Decadent… Sensual… Forbidden…
12 Masters. 12 Desires. 12 Fantasies Come to Life.
Meet the Masters of Blasphemy…
About MASTERING HER SENSES
(Blasphemy #2, 2/21/17)
12 Masters. Infinite fantasies. Welcome
to Blasphemy…
He wants to dominate her senses—and her heart…
Quinton Ross has always been a thrill-seeker—so it’s no surprise that
he’s drawn to extremes in the bedroom and at his BDSM club, Blasphemy, where he
creates sense-depriving scenarios that blow submissives’ minds. Now if he could
just find one who needs the rush as much as him…
When an accident leaves Cassia Locke with a paralyzing fear of the dark, she’ll
try anything to get help. Ready to fight, she knows just who to ask for
help—the hard-bodied, funny-as-hell Dom she’d always crushed on—and once stood
up.
Quinton is shocked and a little leery to see Cassia, but he can’t pass up the
chance to dominate the alluring little sub this time. Introducing her to
sensory deprivation becomes his new favorite obsession, and watching her fight
fear is its own thrill. But when doubt threatens to send her running again,
Quinton must find a way to master her senses—and her heart.
Amazon: Coming 2/21/2017
Dear Readers,
I’m having so much fun writing in the sexy,
sensual world of Blasphemy that I couldn’t wait until release day to share a
chapter from my next story in this series, Mastering Her Senses.
Quinton is funny and sexy and smart as hell, but he also has that intense,
dominant side that I just can’t get enough of! The Blasphemy series are
stand-alone erotic romances all set in an exclusive play club located in the
ruins of an abandoned church in downtown Baltimore. That means you can read
them in any order and enjoy them all! Now, read on to meet the next
Master of Blasphemy!
And don’t forget to preorder – now available
everywhere!
Thanks for reading!
Laura Kaye
MASTERING HER
SENSES
(A BLASPHEMY BOOK)
BY LAURA KAYE
CHAPTER ONE
Quinton Ross was in
his happy place.
Standing behind the
bar at Blasphemy, the club he co-owned with eleven of the coolest assholes he’d
ever known, he surveyed the roomful of wonderfully kinky people wearing a whole
lotta nothing. Totally his jam.
And the fact that
he’d get to play with one of them later? Seriously, a man’s
life didn’t get any better.
Well, having a
submissive of his own…that could be better. Theoretically.
Except the one and
only time he’d attempted that, the woman had screwed him over so royally he’d
almost needed lube. Heh.
But, whatever.
Quinton tried really frickin’ hard to let things roll off his shoulders. People
had much worse shit in their lives than him. Most of the time, he considered
himself lucky and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Besides, he never lacked for company or partners around the club, and no
submissive ever left him anything but fully satisfied. He made damn sure of it.
“Hi, Master
Quinton,” came a feminine voice from further down the counter.
He turned to find a
blond-haired woman with a sleek, silver prosthetic arm leaning against the
marble of the ornate bar. Kenna Sloane. And right behind her stood her big
mountain of a Dom and one of Quinton’s best friends, Griffin Hudson. “Aren’t
you looking lovely tonight, Kenna,” Quinton said with a smile as he made his
way to where Griffin was sliding into a seat and pulling Kenna’s slim hips
between his legs. “And am I wrong or is this some snazzy new hardware?” He
nodded at her arm. She’d lost everything below her right elbow while serving
with the Marines in Afghanistan. If she and Griffin hadn’t been fuckin’ fated,
Kenna might’ve been Quinton’s kind of woman.
Adventurous. Brave.
Willing to push life to the extremes.
But they were fated,
something the diamond on her finger and the platinum collar with its unique
interwoven knot sitting at the hollow of her throat both indicated. Loud and
clear.
Kenna smiled, so
much more comfortable here at the club—and seemingly in her own skin—than she’d
been when she and Griffin had first reconnected a few months back. “I have a
couple different sockets. And a girl has to coordinate,” she said, holding it
up to the almost sheer sparkling silver halter top she wore.
Chuckling, Quinton
nodded and clasped hands with Kenna’s Dom. “Master Griffin, how the hell are
ya?” Their wrists bore matching leather cuffs with embroidered Gothic M’s.
Every Blasphemy Master—the experienced Dominants who owned the club and took
turns running and monitoring it—wore one like it.
“Never better, my
friend. Never better.” The skin crinkled around Griffin’s dark eyes as he
spoke, his smile coming a million times easier than it ever had before. Quinton
guessed that was what happened when you were not only able to correct one of
the biggest mistakes of your life, but find a submissive who was also your soul
mate in the process.
Lucky fucker.
“I know that’s
true,” Quinton said, winking at Kenna. She ducked her chin but was smiling
bright enough to light up the whole room. And that was saying something given
the size of Blasphemy. Located in the renovated remains of an old abandoned
church, the massive rectangular nave formed the central part of the club.
Filled with lots of seating and play areas, it had a soaring ceiling, massive
stained-glass windows all around, and a performance and demonstration stage
where the altar had once been. Themed rooms and other private spaces stretched
off from the main floor. In addition to the very private and exclusive
Blasphemy, the public front of their business—Club Diablo, a three-story dance
club in a renovated warehouse—stood across a courtyard.
And Quinton
provided hands-on management over it all.
He’d been with the
clubs from the beginning, and had used his savings and the money he’d made
selling a small but successful bar of his own to purchase his ownership stake
in Blasphemy, a deal that got even sweeter when his partners had offered him
the job of managing the bars and all the food service at both clubs. Food,
drink, and sex all tantalized the senses and therefore were equally high up on
the list of things he loved, and always had been. Given his prior experience,
he pretty much had full control of the operation. Just like he liked.
Griffin placed an
order for him and Kenna, then asked, “You have a scene set up tonight?”
Quinton got busy
making their drinks and shook his head. “No,” he said with a grin. “But I’m
looking forward to the thrill of the hunt.”
Griffin chuckled.
“Good luck with that.”
The quip on
Quinton’s tongue died when a flashing red light under the bar’s edge caught his
eye. An emergency in one of the rooms. He glanced at the tag over the light to
determine which one, then slammed the drinks down in front of his friends
harder than he’d intended. “Shit, G, sorry. Emergency in the dark room. Get
someone to cover?” he said, moving without waiting for an answer. He knew
Griffin would have his back.
Quinton moved as
fast as he could without calling undue attention. Their members knew that the
Masters and a team of other Doms who worked as monitors responded to all sorts
of problems around the club, some as mundane as an equipment malfunction and
others more delicate situations involving disputes between players in a scene.
Hell, a few months ago, Quinton had responded when Kenna broke down during a
bondage scene, and Griffin had called for help extricating her from his
intricate ropework. Sex at the extremes was bound to run into a few issues,
which was why consent and safety were hallmarks of BDSM and Blasphemy itself.
But none of that meant any of them wished to distract players from their
pleasures with worry or curiosity, either.
Off the main floor,
Quinton picked up his pace as he moved down the long hallway off of which most
of the themed play rooms were located. The dark room was at the far end. Master
Wolf came up beside him. “Hey, man,” he said.
Quinton gave him a
nod. “Didn’t know you were on tonight, Wolf. Good to see you.”
A little taller
than Quinton, the guy had dark blond hair, the brightest green eyes you’d ever
seen, and a chiseled Scandinavian face that turned heads all over the club.
“Running the security control room. Relieving Isaac because the baby’s sick,”
he said, referring to Isaac Marten, their head of security operations, who had
a two-month-old son.
“Damn. Sorry to
hear that,” Quinton said as they closed in on their destination. The dark room
was actually a series of three interconnected rooms. In the center was a
pitch-black bedroom, accessed only through two changing/waiting rooms on either
side of it—one of which let out into this hallway, and the other of which let
out into a different hallway so that the players couldn’t run into each other
before or after the anonymous scene. The dark room was very popular, and given
Quinton’s interest in sensory deprivation, it was one he’d used many times.
He heard someone in
distress before they even got inside.
Quinton and Wolf
burst through the door to find one of the monitors trying to calm a woman
curled on the floor, gasping like she couldn’t breathe. She wore a slinky
bronze dress that bared most of her legs.
“What happened?”
Quinton asked, grabbing a blanket from a shelf and going to his knees beside
her. He tucked the soft fleece around her.
“I don’t know,” the
monitor said. I sounded the alarm but she told me not to call an ambulance when
I asked.
“She just freaked
out. I swear. Nothing hardly happened between us,” a shirtless man said from
the doorway to the dark bedroom.
Quinton hadn’t even
noticed him there, but Wolf was already questioning him. He nodded to the
monitor, a Dom in his forties, and then peered up at Master Wolf. “You all
clear out. Debrief him and get his information.”
“You got it, Q,”
Wolf said, motioning the other men out into the hall. “Call if you need help.”
As they left,
Quinton brushed the woman’s shoulder-length hair back off her splotchy face.
“We need to get your breathing under control or I have to call an ambulance.”
“No…no…I…it’s…”
Clenching her eyes, she shook her head and growled as if in frustration.
Damnit, he needed
to do something for her. The part of him that needed to care and soothe
decided, and he scooped her off the floor and carried her to the couch. Everywhere
they touched, her pulse hammered against her skin. If this was a panic attack,
it was one of the worst he’d ever seen.
He sat with her in
his lap, the blanket still wrapped around her, and cradled her so that they
were facing each other. “Breathe with me, little one. Do you hear me? Look at
me and breathe with me.” Striking hazel eyes with flecks of gold cut to his.
Almost familiar…
Focusing, he
exaggerated one breath, than another, and another, until she struggled to match
her rhythm to his.
Griffin appeared in
the doorway, questions clear on his face. Quinton spared him the smallest of
glances and gave a single shake of his head. Griffin nodded and closed the
door. Quinton had this. The others would be there in a heartbeat if he was
wrong, but he didn’t think he was.
Because the woman’s
body was calming. Her breathing was evening out. Her pulse was slowing. Her
muscles were losing their tension.
“That’s it. That’s
good. Just watch me and breathe with me. Don’t stop. We’ll kick this thing,
don’t you worry.” He stroked his hand over her hair, wanting to soothe her. The
color was so rich it almost matched the bronze of her dress. Her hair was
beautiful and soft. As was the rest of her, all golden skin and pretty curves.
Her weight felt good in his arms. She turned her face into his hand, just the
littlest bit, and he stroked her hair again. A jagged scar ran along her
forehead and into her hairline over one eye.
The scar triggered
the oddest thought: That wasn’t there before.
His gaze cut back
to those eyes. Hazel with the gold. And he suddenly knew he’d seen them before.
Years ago. Right here at Blasphemy. A name clicked into place.
“Cassia?” he asked.
Cassia. As in Cassia Locke, a submissive he’d flirted with quite a few times
and was once supposed to play with…but she’d stood him up the night of their
scene.
“Y-yes, Sir,” she
whispered. “H-hi, Mas-ter Q-quinton.”
So she recognized
him, too. Did she remember that night? He shook off the thought. Their history
wasn’t something to deal with just then.
“Hi yourself, kid.”
He gently scratched his fingertips against her scalp and concentrated on taking
slow, deep breaths that she mimicked. Studying her, Quinton noticed another
scar on her right shoulder. Her hair was also much longer than the almost
boyish style she used to wear. Finally, Cassia went limp in his lap, and her
ease unleashed a satisfaction in his blood. “Feeling better?”
She gave a long
sigh, the sound exhausted and defeated. “As better as I can feel after utterly
humiliating myself. Sir.”
He shook his head.
“No such thing happened. Not as far as I’m concerned.”
Her gaze skittered
away.
“Did I tell you to
stop looking at me?”
Cassia’s eyes
snapped back to meet his. “No, Sir.”
Her obedience
unleashed even more of that satisfaction. The attraction of BDSM, to him, was
as much about the psychology of it as the physicality of the acts. Her
reaction—that obedience—represented an ingrained instinct, a need to serve, a
desire to surrender. And that fucking heated his blood. He arched a brow and
nodded. “Good girl.”
She shifted in his
lap, but kept her eyes on his. The movement reminded his body that he’d been
planning to find a partner, but he locked that shit down tight. First, because
she’d been through something tonight he didn’t entirely understand. And second,
because given that she’d stood him up and never bothered to follow up to
explain, he wasn’t sure what to make of her anyway. And trust was kind of a
thing, for him. Well, for most Doms, really. Which meant he needed to know.
“Now, tell me what
happened,” he said, nailing her with a stare. “And tell me the truth.”
Books in Series:
About Laura Kaye
Laura is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty books in contemporary and erotic romance and romantic suspense, including the Blasphemy, Hard Ink, and Raven Riders series. Growing up, Laura’s large extended family believed in the supernatural, and family lore involving angels, ghosts, and evil-eye curses cemented in Laura a life-long fascination with storytelling and all things paranormal. Laura also writes historical fiction as the NYT bestselling author, Laura Kamoie. She lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.
![Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000035_00027]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vI8PdJqeD3Oi-RL9Z2QRcs1bBXS2jE-rto_4f8wvudwjSeE_He8yJ1yXW84-uq-DDm-ZeddFLIIgsfawITggEH8DYDzicPE1TCdFJ8zzX-0D6c509EL0_QcvxWVu8BGx77ITs_WdsbLrax0b1fgsKsXzV3sdGB5fCkWf0=s0-d)
